Setting the Stage
by Mr Selfish
Summary: "The one who wins is the one who decides how history is written, but if you erase the winner then you erase history. Then you become the writer." - The Fallen Sir Sagramar / Rated (T) for blood, violence, gore. OC, Dark Souls II.


It was an all too familiar scene. Stranded in a dark, rotten wood brimming with equally rotten corpses and mindless undead. Woe to the poor healthy cursed one who loses his mind to a simple thirst for a helping of humanity and the sweet life force of the soul of a brave knight. What is a man to do against such unforgiving odds, you ask? Well, actually it's quite simple. Survive.

Tonight my prey was formidable, ranking among the most fearful of Drangleic's powerful elite. This was my first encounter with one, a Forlorn. I'd heard rumors of dark forces powered by an ancient obsession who wandered these dead lands, but I had written them off as fool's tales. Even an undead hollowed of their former selves would be unable to comprehend the supposed evil's carried out by these monstrosities, let alone partake in them. Well, at least that's what my naivety forced me to believe.

I crouched underneath a pale moonlight, overlooking the cursed wood across a deep fissure from the ruins of a crumbled stone tower. My attire, unchanged since the day that I first died, consisted of a black tunic and pants, tightly wrapped around my athletic frame as to allow for completely unrestricted movement. The cloth draping my legs disappeared underneath a pair of dark leather boots, while the wraps over my arms mimicked the same appearance and hid below tough hided gloves. Numerous tools strapped themselves to my person in one way or another. A quiver filled with raven feathered arrows clung to my back. Poison tipped knives were holstered onto the sides of my thighs and forearms, and my belt carried a strong braided whip along with a mail piercer reinforced with a handguard over its hilt. My left hand grasped around my favorite toy, a long slender bow that had delivered quick death to many of my targets in the past.

I hailed from the land of Mirrah, a place of knights, danger, and adventure. It maintained one of the deadliest climates I've ever witnessed, blessing my skin with a kiss of dark complexion and hardiness, and battering my sturdy face with dozens of small scars. Dark hair wildly lashed from my scalp, but never threatened to cover a pair of tame almond colored eyes. Through a combination of my lineage and apparel, the night acted as both a shield and a sanctuary.

The Forlorn wandered up the cliffside and towards the structure, but would have had to have an almost supernatural power in order to sense me. A bonfire crackled below my narrow perch, illuminating the inside of the tower with a brilliant orange aura. The mad being was drawn to it like a mutilated beast to a corpse, seemingly struggling to put one foot in front of the other. It whispered evil nothings beneath its black cowl while its once glorious plate armor sung with each and every one of its steps. Oddly enough, my target lacked any sort of weapon. But alas, I was deterred from an engagement. I'd faced enemies in the past who simply didn't rely on things like a physical weapon, it wasn't as uncommon as one would think. I pondered my next move as the Forlorn's shadow chaotically danced with the flames below me, the tufting of the fire masking the sounds of my already slow, controlled breathing.

We stayed like that for what seemed like ages, but an opportunity like this is something that one should not waste. I scanned my surroundings, looking for environmental advantages and pitfalls. The forest in the distance separated itself from the cliffside but was forcibly connected to it by an ogre sized stone bridge. Behind the wall that shielded my back lay a path to a small, deserted fortress carved into the mountain itself. Hollows aimlessly patrolled both the passages of the structure and the woods beyond the cliffside below. A wooden ladder connected the path on the opposite side of the wall flanking my back to the base of the tower underneath me. I didn't catch anything of significant value, but it appeared that I could have collapsed an old stump impaled into the cliffside to create a natural bridge between the ruined tower and the rocky path that was only accessible by way of the hollow infested fortress.

If it weren't for the threat of imminent death I would have let loose a long, drawn out sigh. The anticipation of battle refused to allow my mind to wander, and the threat of my opponent supplied me with a steady flow of adrenaline. I thought about creeping down the ladder and ambushing the fiend, but knowing my luck something would probably go horribly wrong. The wind would throw my scent around, a hollow would wander too close to me, or at the very least the ladder would creak. No, if I was going to do this I would need an opportunity. A window had to be built and I didn't want to be the one to do it. Luckily, fate decided to be a kind mistress.

The shrieks of hollows pierced the silence of the night, escaping from the fortress only a strides length behind my position. Rusted metal smashed against steel and stone, echoing through halls of the deserted fortress. The undead that I snuck passed earlier were engaged in combat.

"This way!" called a distant voice.

Another voice, masked by a helmet, inaudibly replied. I tried to assemble the sounds in my head and could only make out the quick phrase: "Wait up you slick bastard." I smirked. It seemed as if an adventuring duo had stumbled upon the path beyond the fortress and unwittingly found their way here. The sounds of plate colliding with leather and the singing of chainmail grew closer, they were running to my position.

"The ladder!" yelled the other man. We'll call him raspy voice.

I suddenly remembered that I wasn't alone. I checked the shadows of the Forlorn beneath the small ledge that I rested on and let loose a small gasp of surprise. Unless my target had moved to the other side of the small room, it was no longer there. I thought about telling the two innocent undead about the beast, but then again… what if they weren't so innocent? There's no reason why anyone would have to travel through this deadly portion of Drangleic, so it was very possible that these men were bandits. My previous intuition was correct as the ladder creaked while the men climbed down.

"There, I spot flames. Must be a bonfire." called the owner of the first, penetrating voice.

My position would have possibly been compromised if one of the two saw me on their way to the bonfire. I decided to flank around the tower's wall and hide within the small passage overlooking the very steep mountainside cliff. The clambering and moans of multiple hollows still echoed from the path, intent on pursuing the two undead. I swiftly drew an arrow and silently bounded from my position, sweeping around the wall. Before every battle I like to analyze my opponents, but in this case I didn't have much time for anything.

Two hollows, both wearing old leather armor laced with bits of metal bolts and chainmail to hold it all together. The frames of the undead hogged the path with their rotting corpse-like bodies, armed with rusted swords in each and every one of their hands. The first of them flinched in sudden surprise and stopped in his tracks. In one fluid motion I both notched and released my arrow at the target, striking him in the throat. To be honest, I aimed for the head to eliminate the hollow as soon as possible, but it wasn't screaming its head off either so my shot was sufficient. I strapped my bow around my quiver and reached for the dark hilt of my mail piercer.

My first opponent wavered back and forth as blood escaped from his gurgling throat. He stumbled too far to his left and lost his footing, falling off of the cliff in a deadly silence. My gaze never left my remaining foe, but his complexion seemed to immediately changed. He glanced back and forth between the drop of the cliff, to me. He licked his lips and released a zombie-like moan. At one point this undead was a healthy being, capable of emotion, thought, and speech. I was actually surprised that it wasn't simply charging me. Normally, a hollow is willing to forgo its fellow horde at the slight chance that it might get to feast on a soul. It was very possible that this hollow wasn't completely lost. This made it dangerous.

I dashed forward and drew my dagger, my peripherals catching a gleam of moonlight as the shining metal of my blade reflected a swift death. The hollow firmly planted his feet on the floor, shifting his body to meet mine's in a clash. I saw that he was prepared to meet me so with my left hand I reached for the knife latched around my thigh and threw it towards my opponent. Luckily, it impaled the hollow's right hand and sent his weapon dropping down into the abyss.

The hollow groaned in pain and distractedly looked at the blade that was beautifully pierced into its flesh. I did not halt my advance for a moment as I tackled the corpse to the ground, pinning its remaining blade to the floor and shoving my dagger into its chest, churning it around as to grind its heart to mush. I looked into the void eyes of the hollow as what remained of its life drained from its deformed face.

"You hear something?" questioned one of the men, its words penetrating my near-silent murder.

Raspy voice replied. "Must have been those hollows. They probably turned around. Want to go have a look just in case?"

"Nah." whispered the other man. "If anything, we'll let them come to us."

I slid my impaled knife out of the hollow's hand and dug my dagger out of its chest. I once again thought about sighing in relief but continued to hold it in as I braced myself over the hollow's torso in order to get a good grip of its flimsy leather armor. Without making too much noise while tugging at its chest, I managed to toss it off of the path's ledge and into the darkness below with one forceful heave. The thing's blood stained my vestments and I got a horrible whiff of its stench as I once again slowed my breathing.

"Alright let's go, the lords of the Huntsman's Copse are said to be ripe with plenty of treasure." raspy voice commented.

I snuck a peek around the passage, peering right past the ladder as the two men made their way down the cliffside into the woods. As they crossed the stone bridge I could see them engage another group of hollows in the distance, the clashing of their weapons and calls of coordination filling the air. Upon first inspection I was able to deduce that one of the men was a knight of Mirrah. His face was completely enclosed in a metallic mask, acting as a helmet that fit tightly around the head as to provide its wearer with both a protective advantage and unhindered vision. Chainmail draped over his entire body like a long metallic robe and a dark, torn cloth draped over his shoulders and ran all the way down to his knees. He swung his battle axe into the skull of an attacking hollow as to show me the tribal pattern of a stag's head sewn onto his armor's torso. Definitely a knight of Mirrah.

The other man carried a metallic, rectangular greatshield and a master-crafted wooden spear with a pointed steel tip. His apparel was that of a classic warrior, bearing a tough leather chestpiece, pants, boots, and gauntlets while his elbows, knees, shoulders, and head were cluttered in plate armor. He looked to be set up with defensive armor that sacrificed some weight and protection for mobility. A peculiar thing flashed in the light for a second on his right index finger as he impaled his spear into an attacker, a fancy ring of some sort. From this far away I couldn't make out much more than the fact that it had an odd, almost thorny design.

Quite honestly, the two looked like an amazing team. When a group of hollows charged them they would use veteran tactics to defend and counter against the attack. The spearman would raise his shield and act like a wall between the knight and the assailing horde, while his ally swept around the group and decapitated their foes with ease. With teamwork it seemed like they could last for a long time in these dead lands, maybe they would even take the Forlorn out for me. Although the two were pulling off quite the show, I also kept an eye out for my true target. However, it was nowhere to be seen. Not a single trace of the damned thing lingered since it disappeared from the bonfire, and if it was still in the same room then a conflict would have erupted with these two men earlier.

Was it possible that as I was stalking the Forlorn as it was also targeting the duo? The idea that an intelligent being or man with an agenda weaving dark forces through Drangleic was terrifying. The amount of power and influence that one would need in order to control a dark power like the Forlorn is incomprehensible and logically unreachable. I swatted my conspiracy theory away and crept my way down the ladder as the two men reached a dead end. An enormous iron bridge, ancient but functional, connected the edge of the woods to the cliffside of a long canyon. The only problem was that it was raised. One of the men disappeared into a small, rounded building and the loud crank of a metallic lever sent a minor tingling down my spine. Gears shifted and grinded, birthing a loud screech as the gigantic contraption slowly lowered itself. I made my way across the first stone bridge, minding the corpses of looted hollows and made sure to select a dense bush to hide behind.

The canyon presented itself first with a stone dome-like jail (cell door included) that did a bad job of hiding a bonfire within itself. The building was flanked by a natural cave while another man made stone bridge separated the first section of the canyon with the other. The other side was an easily defendable, thin path that led down the formation to a waterfall. If one were to stop and listen they could hear the deep, sporadic breathing of the hollows waiting in ambush along the passage. Everything was pretty normal except for one thing. The only sources of light for the area were boulders lined with fiery, impaled corpses. It was unsettling and I bore no plans to cross the great iron bridge into the canyon.

My senses certainly kept me in the woods, on the "safe" side of the bridge, but it didn't stop the other two. Judging by all of the looted hollow corpses they were treasure hunters, adventurers. Petty things like fear or hesitation didn't exist in their minds. They simply killed, collected, and thrived… quite a simple code, really.

The two men spoke of their plunder and of the long winded battle with the hollows in the forest while they sat at the bonfire and inspected their wounds. They carried an Estus Flask with them, a potion imbued with the essence of the magically linked bonfire itself. Artifacts like the flask were hard to come by, and this particular one would rejuvenate even the brutalest wounds in one swig of brilliant golden liquid. Passing it between one another, they were completely unprepared for what was about to happen.

I felt an unnatural chill run down my spine and my skin froze with goosebumps. I finally found the Forlorn, and cursed at myself for missing it earlier. It casually sat with its back to a tree, covering itself from the entrance to the small jail's bonfire. It was facing me. I froze, there was no way it would have missed me descending from the ladder. Maybe I got lucky and it was watching the men earlier as I slipped into my position? Unlikely...

I pivoted my foot and prepared to dash back towards the tower, a direct confrontation would almost certainly mean death. I needed an advantage, and right now I didn't have one. As I began to make my move I stopped myself very suddenly as the Forlorn rose. The motion was unbelievable, it seemed to cryptically float to its feet as shadows seeped out of its right hand and shaped into the form of a black, steel greatsword. The weapon itself was huge, its blade easily able to reach the floor if I held it at my neck. The width of the blade matched half of my torso, and must have weighed much more than an entire set of plate armor. The Forlorn casually flipped the blade onto its shoulder and began its beastly descent upon the jail cell.

"Damnit." I whispered. If I didn't do anything those men were screwed, and this was as much of a window as I was going to get. Obviously the entire thing could have been a trap to lure me out, but I twisted my foot forward and bounded for the iron bridge to get into position. I reached the end of the contraption just as the Forlorn reached the opening of the cell. My bow was already drawn and while I reached for my first arrow the men let out screams of terror. Time wasn't something I liked to waste, I notched the arrow, aimed, and let go.

The arrow flew straight and true, smashing through the Forlorn's armored back which set free a high pitched screech from within my opponent. The two men mimicked the scream as they huddled behind the bonfire, using the flames as a form of imaginary protection. The arrow lodged itself right into the beast's spine, and any normal man, living or undead, would have been paralyzed from the waist down. But as you would have guessed, I wasn't hunting "Normal". The Forlorn turned to me and was quickly met with another arrow, which hit the mark and impaled itself into the area where the thing's heart should have been. I notched a third arrow, waiting for the wind to settle a little before releasing it at my foe. It landed in the dark being's stomach and forced it back a step.

When I was young I used to feel outclassed and powerless compared to a fully honed knight of Mirrah. That same feeling trembled its way through my body as the Forlorn stepped forward, straightened its back and pulled the two arrows out of its torso. It strode to me, dark ichor seeping from the holes in its armor.

"Fuck this!" yelled the man with a penetrating voice as he sprung around the bonfire in the small jail and slammed it shut, sprinting and disappearing into the darkness of the caves.

The knight inside panicked, he tried to push the metal-barred door open but it was locked. He called to his cowardly companion. "Pate... Pate get back here and free me. Pate!"

The Forlorn slowly glanced towards the man, causing him to practically leap over the bonfire and huddle close to the other side of his cell in fear. I used the small gift of ignorance to fire off another arrow, this one impaling the other side of my opponent's chest. Looking back, I would call what I did a mistake. The black cowled knight jerked his body towards me and let loose a low, murder-filled growl. It tossed the arrow onto the floor and broke into a powerful sprint towards me. I sheathed my bow and drew my mail piercer, pointing both of my feet to the left with a twitchy anticipation to dodge my foe's following attack.

His plate boots collided with the iron bridge, each step sending an aggressive clash of sparks and scratches into the air. A strong wind picked up, sending his dark drape flying to his right. Surely this would affect his colossal sword swing, right? I pondered for a quick moment as he was a simple strides length away from me. No, this beast would probably slice through the wind like butter. My intuition served me well yet again as the blade was rapidly heaved into the sky and came crashing down in a perfect crescent, just like the moon that reflected off of its metallic beauty. The wind provided me with extra speed and distance as I stepped to the left. I let the momentum carry me around my opponent's weapon and twisted my entire body towards it to deliver a crushing blow. I channeled all of my strength into this lunge, stabbing the Forlorn in the center of its chest.

I need not repeat myself, I do not like to waste time. Although it would be considered overkill by some, I reached for the knife latched around my left thigh and quickly stabbed towards the dark abyss underneath the Forlorn's hood, where a man's throat would be. My eyes widened as the knife disappeared into the darkness of the thing's face. I heard a loud crash and was suddenly pushed backwards. The knight had dropped its sword onto the floor to push me back with all of its might, sending me flying off of the ground. I hadn't maintained a good grip on my dagger and it was still lodged into my foe's chest and on top of that my flight came to a sudden stop as my back collided with a hard, unforgiving tree. My vision blurred as pain flared throughout my body, but I still witnessed the Forlorn unlodging my dagger from its chest, followed by an outward explosion of more dark ichor.

Dazedly, I eyed my opponent. "What are you and how do I kill you?" I muttered. My body felt wracked, and my eyes traced the area for another advantage. The Forlorn turned to my weapon, which it clutched in its right hand, then to me. The message was clear, the bastard meant to kill me with my own dagger. What a vile-blooded prick. I wanted to kill this abomination, but I didn't think I could do it alone. My eyes traced the bridge behind my opponent. No, I wouldn't do it alone.

I took a deep breath, listened to my ribs crack outwards, and unlatched my whip, snapping it into sudden existence from my belt. I lept forward into a mad dash towards the Forlorn and noted that it had planted its feet firmly into the ground. I gambled on the fact that the lingering humanity of the autonomous reaction that we call a flinch had cursedly followed this creature well passed his dark demise. Flipping my whip into the dark, aiming for anywhere near my opponent's face, I let a sly smirk creep across my face as the Forlorn slightly bowed its shadowy cowl. I pivoted my feet and ran completely around the beast, bounding for its greatsword.

The knight jerked around, giving into chase as it practically lept for me, its right hand poised to slam the black ichor covered blade into my skull. Surprisingly, as I heaved the greatsword into the air I found it to be much lighter than expected. Maybe it was the adrenaline. I twisted my body around, anchored my stance firmly to the cold iron ground, and brought the greatsword crashing down in one fluid motion, cleaving the large chunk of metal into the Forlorn's right shoulder. The blade of my dagger slid across my left cheek as I ducked my head to the right, failing to avoid the creation of a small wound on my skin. My dagger flew from my opponent's hand, a trace of my sanguine fortitude illuminating its blade with crimson moonlight, and the Forlorn's arm uselessly flopped to its side like a limp fish.

My wound was light, but the Forlorn's was brutal. A long fissure matching more than the width of the beast's large greatsword mawed through my foe's body. The being's organs and muscles were replaced by black ichor, but even that flooded past the Forlorn's crushed plate armor. A puddle of darkness quickly formed beneath us but I didn't let it mesmerize me. The battle wasn't over yet so I pulled on the greatsword with as much force as I could and carried the both of us to the edge of the bridge, tossing my soundless target off the side of the ancient contraption. I watched the knight's body fall into the shadow of the crag, further darkened by shadows cast by the ancient iron bridge and a spell of moonlight.

I inhaled deeply and forced a long drawn out sigh from my lungs.


End file.
